


Handmade For Somebody Like Me

by firstbreaths



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coffee Shops, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 08:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11939868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstbreaths/pseuds/firstbreaths
Summary: "...the only thing worst than hiding from one’s date at Madam Puddifoot’s? Finding out that James Potter also happens to work there." Set during seventh year.





	Handmade For Somebody Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic's chronology, the prank takes place just before the Easter holidays of Lily and James' sixth year at Hogwarts, because #fuckcanon. Thanks, as always, to my lovely beta Kris who whipped this story into shape and laughed at all the right parts.

The only thing worse than going on a date at Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop? Hiding from one’s date at Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. 

Lily slams the door shut behind her, the wind chimes overhead tinkling as she does, and turns around, only to run straight into James Potter. 

“Evans! What are you doing here?” James says, like he’s entirely unaware that he’s wearing a bright pink apron with a bow on each shoulder and a massive carnation pinned to the front.

Scratch that, the only thing worst than hiding from one’s date at Madam Puddifoot’s? Finding out that James Potter also happens to work there.

Lily thinks, for a brief second, about lying. But Madam Puddifoot’s isn’t the kind one goes without a reason (usually of the  _ I want to snog the person I’m with senseless _ kind), and she thinks James knows her well enough to see straight through it. To be fair, she hasn’t been putting up as many barriers of her own, recently. 

“I’m hiding from my date,” she says. 

James fixes her with a stare she’s not quite sure what to make of. 

“In the place where romance is contagious?” he asks finally, gesturing around at the myriad of couples, all holding hands across the table. In the corner, she’s pretty sure she spots Frank and Alice Longbottom, who graduated three years ago, snogging like their lives depend upon it. Chains of paper hearts hang from the ceiling, there are two hideous angel statues hanging in front of the window and a giant portrait of Cupid on the side wall, currently sound asleep in a bed of petals. Lily swears she can hear him snore.

“I looked so disinterested that I hope this is the last place he looks.”

James hadn’t looked particularly unhappy, but he definitely perks up at that.

“Heard a rumour you were going on a date with Dirk Cresswell,” he says.

“If you could call it that,” she says, and adds, “funnily enough, most girls don’t find Gobbledegook all that charming. If I wanted someone to rasp at me for an hour, I’d have just punched them in the throat.”

“A threat you’ve levelled at me on more than one occasion, and yet…”

“Neither you nor him could even promise me a goblin-made necklace for my efforts.” Lily sighs. “Look, Potter, if he comes in here and finds me talking to you, of all people, you’ll have a fight on your hands and —”Lily looks around again at the sheer amount of velvet and lace that decorate the shop, most of which is beginning to fray at the edges — “I’m sure your employer wouldn’t like that.”

She’d never thought their history would come in handy like that, but she’ll take what she can get. Lily’s not sure what she’d wanted, when she came in here to hide, but hopefully he can hide her in the back room or something. 

“Well,” James says, after a long pause, “in that case, may I offer you our deluxe table?” 

He nods his head towards the far corner of the room, where the table is covered in a garish pink tablecloth and mostly shrouded by a lace canopy, upon which a giant pixie is perched. As if on cue, the bright blue pixie drops a handful of rose petals over the table, before returning to its rigid pose. 

“Absolutely not.” Lily shakes her head. “I can’t be seen dead here for any longer than it takes to shake Cresswell off the trail.”

James shrugs. Lily senses that the comment struck a nerve she wasn’t aware James Potter even had.

“If you’re sure,” he says. “It’s the best place in here to do homework. Thanks to the lace, no one can see or disturb you. You can immobilise the pixie, but it doesn’t last long term; it bit me last time I tried to stuff it in a cage.” James holds up his finger, though she can’t see a single scratch. “In the meantime, I usually just freeze the petals in mid air.” 

He pulls out his wand and, true to his word, the petals freeze, a small pile of them resting on the back of the booth.

The doorbell rings, and a couple walk in, both decked in Hufflepuff scarves and earmuffs and giggling loudly as the girl extracts her hands from the boy’s coat pockets. Lily takes a split second to think about it, before pulling a copy of her ancient runes textbook and a roll of parchment from her small purse, which she’d charmed to make bottomless. 

“Thanks,” she says, glad James didn’t comment on her bringing a textbook on what was supposed to be a date.

“Don’t mention it,” James says, before straightening his apron and heading over to the new customers with a steadfast grin.

As she starts to write, Lily can’t help but wonder what she’s gotten herself into.

*

Later, after Lily has written a good three-quarters of her essay for Professor Vector, and most of the customers have gone, James brings her a pot of tea and a jam drop biscuit in the shape of a heart.

“You have a rose petal in your hair,” James says. His fingers twitch, but he doesn’t say anything else. 

“Right,” Lily says, and brushes it away. “Thanks for the biscuit, Potter.”

*

On Monday morning, Cresswell dumps her before she has the chance to do the same. Lily doesn’t say anything, but she’s pretty sure she’d seen Sirius and Remus that morning at breakfast, whispering conspiratorially where Cresswell would easily overhear about how they’d seen Lily at Madam Puddifoot’s, in the company of a mystery man. 

Later that evening, she spots Sirius bewitching the suit of armour outside the third floor girls’ bathrooms to tell dirty jokes, and doesn’t give him detention. 

*

The thing is, things with James Potter have been going about as well as she could expect them to, given their history. (It feels weird to call it  _ history _ , like there’s something there she might want to keep a record of, one day). After finding out that they’d both been made Head Boy and Girl, James had gone out of his way to prove all of Lily’s worst fears wrong - he’d been exceedingly polite, hadn’t given out undeserved points to Gryffindors, and had even been early to meetings. 

About two weeks into the semester, she’d pulled him side one day after potions and asked, “why haven’t you asked me out?”

“What are you talking about?” James had said. “Did you accidentally inhale some of your potion… though I suspect Slughorn would have noticed, with how closely he watches you.”

“Jealous, Potter?”

He doesn’t answer straight away, just whips out his wand and transfigures the ugly statue of Bogrod the Bad that’s behind them into a rabbit, and then, with a lazy flick, back into a goblin again.  A small pile of rabbit droppings lie on the floor at Bogrod’s feet.

“We all have our talents, Evans,” he says, pretending not to notice her wide-eyed stare. 

“Right. And yours used to be asking me out, however unsuccessfully.” Although, she thought with a sudden realisation, he hadn’t done that for awhile, not since the Easter holidays of sixth year, at least. 

“Not much of a talent then, is it?” James replies, eyebrow raised. 

“And yet, for so long…”

“Exactly. I’ve been trying to get you to date me for a long time,” James replies. “If a dozen roses on Valentine’s Day or a cutesy, overpriced cup of English Breakfast one Hogsmeade weekend were going to do it, I’d ‘ve had you years ago. Figured it’s time we aim for a more civil working relationship.”

“I’m more of an earl grey girl, really,” Lily says, hands suddenly clammy. Before she could say anything else however, she felt something brushing against her robes; a heavily pregnant ginger cat stalked past, tail in the area, pausing only briefly to sniff at the dried rabbit dung still on the floor, which could only mean one thing —

Before Filch could find them, James had grabbed her and pulled her back into the mercifully now empty classroom. He was about to shut the door behind them, when she jammed it with her foot and, heart in her mouth, reached into her pocket and threw a Dungbomb she’d confiscated from a third year Hufflepuff up the corridor, skidding several meters past Mrs Norris towards where the corridor intersected with another. 

“Thanks,” James said, still clinging tightly to her hand as he shut the door. They both listened as Filch stomped past them, muttering to himself about punishments. 

“Don’t mention it, Potter,” Lily says, heart still thumping. “It wouldn’t do for both the Head Boy and Girl to be caught now, would it? Can’t waste all our ammunition too early in the school year.”

For a moment James had looked at her, like he was seeing her for the first time, and it had felt more reckless than anything that had happened in the preceding three minutes. 

Either way, after everything, there’s a certain kind of irony in him working at Madam Puddifoot’s. Lily’s not sure what to do with that.  

*

Regardless, Lily has no intention of ever returning to Madam Puddifoot’s again. Apart from the decor, which had clashed with her hair, she has no real interest in being around a bunch of lovesick, mooning teenagers on her Hogsmeade weekends. She gets enough of that during corridor rounds.  

The problem, as always, starts with James. Or, more accurately, James’ busy schedule.

They’re in the dining hall one evening, the sky above them punctured by the occasional lightning bolt as they try to arrange a meeting to discuss new rosters for the Prefects. Damn Benji Fenwick for trying to magically enhance his beard and ending up indefinitely in the hospital wing… 

“How about Thursday?” she asks, looking down at her planner, which squawks indignantly as she moves to scribble out the time she’d made for homework. 

“Quidditch practice. Friday?”

“You’re also the Quidditch captain, can’t you reschedule?” Lily says. “‘Cause I’ve got Charms Club Friday.”

“Why do you bother with Charms Club anyway?”

“Puts more weight on my threats to jinx second years when I catch them out of bed,” she says, deadpan. James knows she’s been going to Charms Club since first year. 

“I can’t believe Cresswell broke up with you,” James says, clutching a hand to his heart. 

“Sunday, then?” Lily says, choosing, for her own sanity, to ignore him. 

James lowers his gaze towards Remus, who’s eating his porridge and pretending not to be listening — a feat made easier by Peter, who’s panicking loudly to his fellow Marauders about the homework Professor Flitwick had assigned them the previous day. 

“Right,” she says, as understanding dawns upon her, “you need to take care of your furry little problem.”

James had told her all about how they support Remus at the full moon last year. It had taken a lot to get it out of him; he’d been curled up in a corner of the common-room, ashen-faced and wearing a distinct aura of shame that Lily had previously associated with post-Quidditch parties in the common room, and the Marauders’ uncanny ability to gain access to Firewhiskey. After he’d told her all about the dreadful prank Sirius had played on Remus, she’d made him a cup of tea and promised never to speak of it again, unless he wanted to, which mercifully for both of them, he hadn’t. 

Come to think of it, that was around the time he’d stopped asking her out. Lily’s not even sure why he confided in her, that night, but she wonders if he knows that the offer still stands. 

“Saturday’s Hogsmeade, right?” James asks finally. “Come to Madam Puddifoot’s. There’ll be a rush around eleven as all our delightful customers realise that, if they have have to spend the whole day with their date, they might as well be snogging in a teashop, and then it’ll be quiet. I can polish the silverware while we talk.”

“You’re still working there — I thought that was a joke. A one time thing that you had to do ‘cause you lost a bet to Sirius, or something.” 

The Marauders all swivel around to look at her, as she realises how loud she’d blurted that out. 

“Damn, wish I’d thought of that now that you mention it,” Sirius says. 

She hadn’t known what to make it of it, really, but James Potter isn’t really the kind of person she’d ever pictured having a job. Lily herself had spent the past two summers pouring beers and manning the reception desk at the Railview Hotel, on the outskirts of Cokeworth, in order to save some extra cash for textbooks. It beat spending the holidays with Petunia, but it was also monotonous and required her to bite her tongue whenever the locals complained that she’d gone away to boarding school instead of acing her classes at the local comprehensive — neither of which she thought James able to put up with. 

“A real joke is whatever Prongs did to his hair this morning,” Sirius drawls, changing the subject, “my dear old mum couldn’t manage a permanent sticking- _ up _ charm that good.”

James self-consciously flattens his hair, to no avail, as Lily says, “well, in that case, I guess I can come by. ‘Spose I’m destined to never go there with an actual date, then.” 

“It’s either that or disappoint McGonagall,” James says, smirking. Apparently recovered from Sirius’ jab, then. 

“I did enjoy the biscuits,” Lily concedes, with a sinking feeling in her stomach that she doubts even an excellent jam drop could dispel. 

*

When she arrives on Saturday, Madam Puddifoot’s is in full swing. The chilling sound of Celestina Warbeck comes from a speaker sitting on the counter, which is swaying in time to the music. At first, she doesn’t see James, but eventually she spots him moving between the tables in his apron, a trail of dirty dishes charmed to follow him. One of the teacups bounces against the corners of the tables as he goes. 

“Take a seat behind the counter,” James says, indicating a stool to the left of the cash register. “And try not to steal anything; we’re already down this month because the damn pixie stole ten galleons from the register and tried to stuff them down people’s shirts… or eat them.”

“Right,” Lily says, as she sits down, and indeed, the pixie which had hovered above her head last time is at the same table, bouncing up and down on the back of the booth as he throws rose petals at two Ravenclaw boys she doesn’t recognise, one of them waving their wand uselessly in the air. 

“I should, uh, go deal with that.” James says, before scurrying off. Lily helps herself to a biscuit and watches as James freezes the pixie, and vanishes the rose petals, before conjuring up two mugs of hot chocolate for the table’s occupants. When he comes back, she pulls two sickles from the pocket of her robes to pay for the jam drop — fucking excellent, again — but James waves his hand and tells her not to worry about it.

“A perk of the job.”

Lily can’t help herself. “Why  _ do  _ you have this job? As much as I’m sure the patrons of this fine establishment may enjoy it…” 

She nods to a Slytherin couple behind her, who are both watching James with undisguised glee as James takes out his wand and points it at his apron, drawing out the tea that had splashed all over him, thanks to the pixie. 

“Dumbledore caught us trying to sneak into Hogsmeade one night,” James says, looking curiously at his feet, which are still soaked with tea. “Said it seemed like an appropriate punishment. Plus, Madam Puddifoot’s been ill lately, and Hogsmeade weekends are her busiest days of the year — the poor witch needs a rest. She’s probably living it up in Copacabana as we speak.”

“Dumbledore  _ does _ have an odd sense of humour.”

“That’s what Padfoot said, though his language was more, er, colourful than yours.” James laughs. “‘Course, Padfoot also said I should watch out, or the trolley lady on the Hogwarts Express might think I’m after  _ her  _ job, next.”

“Rather the Hogwarts Express than…this place,” Lily says, although her words are somewhat belied by the fact that she’s eyeing off the glass jar full of jam drops again. Noticing her expression, James levitates one onto a plate with a dull thunk and, before she can even offer, sends two sickles skidding into the till, which slams shut. “Besides, that ruddy hat she wears would suit you.”

“What have you got against  _ this  _ place anyway - besides the terrible decor, the disturbing evidence of Slytherin courtship and…that blasted pixie.”

She looks up from her plate to spot the same pixie that had dropped robes on her head dangling from the lace canopy above one of the tables and trying to pinch a Hufflepuff girl’s fruit tart. 

She thinks about that for a moment. She’s been on her fair share of dates at Madam Puddifoot’s over the years, mostly with boys who had wanted to  _ get to know her better,  _ by which they really meant stick their tongue in her mouth away from the watchful eyes of the Hogwarts staff and the occasional prying portrait. 

In fact, this is the first time she’s been to Madam Puddifoot’s without the expectation of snogging. 

“It’s so cliche,” Lily says finally. “Like prom, except worse, because it happens every month without fail.”

“Prom?” James, now directing a tea towel with his wand as it dries a stack of mugs, screws his face up confusedly. 

“Muggle thing. An American thing, mostly – imagine a Yule Ball, but every year, and you can’t sever off your acne the day of, or rely on Sleakeasy’s to get you by. You also don’t have Sirius selling what he  _ swears  _ is a Confidence Concoction to help you work up the courage to ask out a witch, either.”

“So girls in nice dresses, a bit of flirting, some dancing. Sounds absolutely  _ awful,  _ Evans.”

“Well, last summer, there was  _ Carrie. _ ”

“Come again?”

“It’s a Muggle film, about a girl who’s bullied, except it turns out she’s telekinetic… which is sort of like our accidental magic, I guess, but more directed. They call her a ‘witch’ and everything. Anyway, in the end, the bullies dump a bucket of pig blood on her at prom and she uses her powers to kill them all.”

“No wonder we’re warned against mingling with Muggles, if that’s how they picture us.” James blinks owlishly. “Could be a good idea for a prank though, except dragon blood’s expensive, and I wouldn't want to…”

He trails off at Lily’s expression. “‘Course, what I really took from your story is that mating rituals, be they Muggle or magical, are  _ weird _ .”

He’s right about that. A few months ago, Petunia had asked her who she was planning on going to the leaver’s ball with next summer, in one of their last ill-fated attempts at bonding. It had struck her as funny that, with all the hate between them, with everything that’s brewing in the wizarding world beyond Hogwarts,  _ romance  _ might be the one thing that could bring them together. Briefly, Lily wonders if Petunia would find her hiding from a goblin-obsessed Ravenclaw in a teashop funny, or just another sign of her freakishness. 

“Honestly, the extravagance of this place puts some of your ‘wooing’ attempts to shame,” Lily says. “That’s all.” She ignores the glare of a Hufflepuff fourth year who had clearly overheard this comment, and was now clutching her partner’s hands on top of the table defiantly. 

“I didn’t ‘woo’ you,” James says, looking a little wounded. “I may have vigorously pursued you, with little thought for either of our feelings…”

“Remus gave you talking points, didn’t he?”

“Can we put that behind us?” James asks, his voice softer than she’s ever heard it. 

“Honestly,” Lily says, only a little surprised that she means it, “I thought we already had.”

*

Before either of them can say anything else, the pixie that had been taunting various couples flings itself across the room, clinging to the giant tasseled lamp shade that adorns the counter and, before she can do anything, blows a massive raspberry right at Lily’s face. 

James ducks behind the counter instinctively, the mugs he’d been drying falling to the floor with a clatter. After a second though, he jumps back up, wand out, and points it at the pixie, but before he can get a spell in, Lily sees it doing another swan dive towards her, blue eyes glinting in the lamplight. 

“ _ Immobulus _ ,” Lily shouts, jumping off her stool and pointing her wand at the pixie, which freezes in mid-air. The lampshade teeters on the countertop, but doesn’t fall over. “Why don’t you just stuff this thing in a cage and be done with it, you know the spell doesn’t last long?”

“It’s kind of charming, don’t you think?” James asks, dusting shards of broken china from his apron. At Lily’s glare, he adds, “this one’s a nasty little blighter, though — used to keep it in a cage in the stock room, but then it just kept jumping around inside until the cage fell off the shelf and the lock broke, so figured it was better to leave it.”

Lily can’t think of a more nonsensical solution but, really — the wizarding world’s notions of what constitutes common sense still make no sense to her, nearly seven years on. 

“So you’ve never —“

“Lockhart offered me advice once…fourth year Hufflepuff, has definitely applied some kind of wind charm on his hair to dubious effect.” Lily nods in recognition of the name. “But, whatever bogus spell he tried just made the pixie try and crawl up Madam Puddifoot’s skirt. Almost lost me job then and there, I was laughing so hard. She thought about banning Lockhart, but apparently the kid’s got a new date every month, helps keep this place in business.”

Lily laughs, picturing the scene in her head. A few couples at the tables closest to her glance curiously in her direction; she has the sneaky suspicion they’re more interested in how closely she’s standing to James than her ability to pay attention in Defence Against the Dark Arts. 

With a slight cough, she takes a step away from him. There are rose petals all over the floor, and the lamp shade has come to a precarious rest, jutting out over the countertop. The pixie is still suspended in mid-air, which James seems to notice at the same time as her, and he banishes it to a plush velvet couch on the far side of the room, where it’s likely to do less damage when it breaks. Meanwhile, Lily sets to repairing the broken mugs on the floor, sending them spinning into the shelf behind her one by one. 

“So, rounds?” James says awkwardly, when they’re done. “Wanna take Monday?”

“Can I take Tuesday? Slughorn’s scheduled a Slug Club meeting for then and I’d rather —“

James shakes his head. “I’ll allow it, but you’re on patrol with the Slytherins.” He pauses. “Also, Evans?” he says, as she slings her bag over her shoulder, preparing to leave, “for all your…help today, grab yourself another biscuit.”

*

The following Monday, her and Remus sit together in Herbology. Both of them hate being in the greenhouses, but the subject is recommended for those wanting to be Healers (ignoring that, with her background, her chances of becoming one are slipping away by the day), and Remus is always hopeful that someday he might stumble upon a plant that could ease the symptoms of his condition. 

“Did you know James works at Madam Puddifoot’s?” Lily asks, wincing as the plant she’s repotting suddenly spits at her, mud landing on her cheek. Remus pulls out his wand and whisks it away as she jams the plant into its new pot, cursing aloud. “Before my outburst at the table last week, I mean?”

“We’re friends, we don’t keep secrets,” Remus replies. “Of course I did.”

Right.

“It’s just surprising, is all … he doesn’t seem like the type to take it so seriously. I mean, it’s really just an obscure form of detention.”

“To work hard?” Remus asks, ducking his head to one side as his own plant spits at him, splattering the greenhouse wall behind them with mud. “Or to wear a frilly pink apron?”

Lily bites her lip and doesn’t say anything; this year has demonstrated that James  _ does  _ work hard, even if not always on his school work. And the apron, well — it’s kind of cute. 

“I support James doing whatever he thinks he needs to do,” Remus continues, somewhat cryptically. “Sirius and Peter support making fun of his apron.”

“He belongs on the cover of  _ Witch Weekly _ in that thing. ‘Ten new cherry tart recipes to try this Christmas,’ ‘buy your poor enslaved house-elves this fancy new stove-cleaning potion,’ that kind of thing.”

“Madam Puddifoot is better known for her biscuits, James always smuggles some back for us. Look, Lily — James is working hard to make things right.” 

And on that, Lily can agree. Both that Madam Puddifoot’s biscuits are incredible and, whether she’d initially asked for it or even wanted it or not, James’ friendship is a gift worth having. 

*

The next Hogsmeade weekend; Lily deliberately doesn’t go to Madam Puddifoot's on their Hogsmeade weekend. She goes to the Three Broomsticks with Mary and Emmeline, where she spots Sirius, Remus and Peter with their heads bent over a piece of parchment, inevitably planning a prank of some description, and she stocks up on sweets at Honeydukes. 

However, on the way back from Scrivenshaft’s, where she’d stopped in to buy a new quill, she looks through the window of Madam Puddifoot’s and spots James, a checkered dishcloth tucked into the pocket of his trousers as he carries a tray of tea and scones across the room. 

Lily catches his eye and waves, and he waves back. Before she knows what she’s doing, she’s turned on the spot and opened the door, the dulcet tones of Celestina Warbeck playing once again. 

“Thought I might get something to go,” she says, as she steps up to the counter. James has somehow made it back across the room in the time it’s taken her to enter. 

“There’s a mail order section in the back of Peter’s magazines if you’re looking for  _ that, _ ” James replies, with an impish grin. 

“Potter,” she says warningly, pulling her navy scarf up to her face to hide her blush. 

“ _ You’re _ the one who described the joint as being ‘riddled with floozies’ a few weeks ago.”

“Like I said,” Lily replies, looking him up and down in his stupid bright pink apron, which today is adorned with a row of four pink peonies that almost seem to glitter in the dim light of the teashop. 

“For someone so gifted with description, you ought to work for the  _ Daily Prophet _ .”

“You calling me a liar?” she asks, thinking of all the strange whispers they’ve heard about the war going on, miles from Hogwarts, none of which have made it into the papers. 

“Nah,” James grins, “just reckon it’s about time someone tells it how it is.”

Before she can reply, he’s pushing a styrofoam cup full of coffee and a paper bag with a jam drop in it across the counter to her. 

“Don’t mention it,” he says.

She’s not sure she’d know how to if she tried.

*

Sometimes, even James is overwhelmed by how  _ dopey  _ their fellow students are when it comes to love.

“Look at them,” James says, shuddering as he points at a table to his left, “Belby’s got about as much game as the Slytherin Quidditch team.” He pauses. “Yep, definitely dropped the Snitch, that one,” he adds, as Belby goes to offer his date a scone and ends up with cream all over the sleeve of his robes for his efforts. 

“You’re a prat,” Lily says, whacking him gently on the arm, but then she looks to her left and spots Dirk Cresswell, madly sucking face with Hestia Jones. She’s not mad, but it’s  _ weird _ , so she points to a couple sitting at the table where she’d first done her Ancient Runes homework a few months ago and says, “your dad’ll be happy, that boy’s definitely taken out shares in Sleakeazy’s.”

James puts on the high-pitched voice of a little girl. “Maybe he’ll finally buy me that unicorn I’ve been wanting for Christmas.”

“Like you haven’t gotten everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“There’s still a lot of things in life to discover, Evans,” and he takes her hand and spins her around, sending a stack of receipts flying. “Like, until this moment, I never thought I’d actually see a human being try and cannibalise another’s face like that.”

He spins her again, and Lily ends up as dizzy and breathless as anyone in the room. 

*

The evening before Lily’s due to return home for the Christmas holidays, she finds James sitting alone in the common room, polishing his broomstick by the fireplace. 

“Can’t you do that with magic?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I could, but I prefer to do it this way. It’s relaxing, and besides — she deserves my full attention.”

James nods at the empty space opposite him on the couch, and she slides down into it, their legs not quite touching. He gives his Cleansweep one final polish, before putting it down on the floor beside him. 

“For what is James Potter without his broomstick?”

He gives her a soft smile as he replies. “Exactly. I owe her for my fame, skill, and insurmountable ego. And a couple of nasty blisters after last weekend’s match.”

“At least you beat Slytherin.”

“Got ‘em good, too — they were so busy fuming, they didn’t even try and get us back, afterwards. Shame, really, I’d have liked to try out a jelly-legs jinx on Rosier.”

Lily thinks briefly, of Severus and his  _ friends _ , holed up in their common room plotting much worse than the occasional trip jinx, and decides to let James’ comment slide. 

“So, I got you something,” she says without further ado, handing over the package that had been tucked under her arm. James unwraps it quickly, and then turns to face her, their knees knocking.

‘’The  _ Handy Witch’s Guide to Household Chores _ ,” James snorts as he reads the title. “Is this some odd Muggle thing where you buy each other joke gifts? Not that it would explain Sirius buying a me a Chudley Cannons scarf.”

“I thought you could use it in your attempts with Vernon the pixie,” Lily explains. “There’s a very handy section on common household bugs and pests, and it seems like something a guy with a bright pink apron should own.”

“Oi, I’m proud of that apron. Stitched the bows together myself.” James swats her shoulder lightly. “And Vernon?”

“Oh, uh, it reminds me a little of my sister’s fiancé. Veiny, balding, thinks throwing itself on top of you is the height of romance.”

“Sounds like quite the catch.”

“I’d rather date the giant squid.”

James pouts. “Are you comparing me to him?”

“Who, Vernon?” Lily snorts. “For starters, you’ve got a neck.”

“Right…” James says, as Lily shifts to a more comfortable position on the couch, “before you go, I uh, got you a present too, James says, rummaging in the pockets of his robe. At her raised eyebrow, he says, “I too, can charm things to be bottomless.”

“Like the extent of your appetite…and your ego,” Lily says, without any of the venom that statement would have contained a year ago. She quickly adds, “that’s a really advanced piece of magic. It took me the better part of a year to master it.”

“It took me two, but it has it’s uses.”

Lily ticks them off on her fingers knowingly. “Dungbombs, Honeydukes sweets, a list of new insults for Severus Snape, more dungbombs.”

James grins at her, unabashed, before pulling out a box, wrapped in brown paper with a bright green ribbon. “And a few other useful items.”

She unwraps it gently, folding the paper and placing it on the armrest beside her. Inside the box, there’s two packets of Madam Puddifoot’s jam drops, a teapot decorated in gold and silver stars, and a box of earl grey tea.

“The teapot’s self-pouring,” James points out, tapping it gently with his wand. It gives a feeble wobble, clearly protesting the lack of tea inside.  

Her mouth has gone dry and she swallows deeply, but before she can say anything — 

“Lily - thanks,” James says. “For everything, this year. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He looks at her like he needs her to understand how thankful he really is. It’s dangerous, that look; for all his arrogance, James has always been a hard worker, and it’s becoming hard to resist all of the effort he’s put into their relationship, into their shared duties as Head Boy and Girl, even as —

Spending time with James has increasingly become effortless. 

“Happy holidays, James,” Lily says, and in a moment of utter impulsiveness, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek.“I — I couldn’t have done it without you, either.”

James’ hand automatically flies to his hair as she pulls away, and his look of utter delight and confusion is just as dangerous as everything else seems to be. 

*

Christmas is unbearable. She loves her father, but sometimes it’s like being smothered with an invisibility cloak full of all the secrets she cannot share with him, all of the wonderful things she’s learnt at Hogwarts, all of her fears for when she leaves school, everything right down to the sheer possibility of a self-pouring teapot. Lily’s not sure if Petunia has told Vernon exactly what she studies at boarding school, but she thinks he might have caught a glimpse of her copy of  _ The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven _ when she’d been unpacking her trunk and sorting her laundry last week. Not to mention how hard it is to hide her owl, Perenelle, who’d looked at Vernon like he was a particularly tasty owl treat she wanted to bite.

Ever since, Vernon and Petunia have been dominating conversation at mealtimes, as though if they talk loudly enough about the Queen’s Christmas address and Mrs White from down the street’s funny limp and Vernon’s latest promotion, Lily won’t have an opportunity to whip out her wand and make the salt and pepper shakers dance. 

One night, thinking about she’d said about to James about how she’d rather date the giant squid than Vernon (a point that still stands), she sends a letter to James. 

_ Send help immediately - Vernon is here. He sells drills (a Muggle tool that you use to put holes in things) and it’s all he’s talked about for days. I’m not sure if you’ll get jokes about the Muggle hardware industry, but I’d rather watch paint dry than have to sit through another dinner with him. _

_ Take care, _

_ Lily  _

_ P.S. The biscuits were incredible — thanks again, Potter.  _

*

_ Lily,  _

_ I can meet you for coffee if you want to get out of the house. I love Sirius, but he gets along much too well with my Mum - he even got away with pinching some of my Mum’s famous chocolate cake over the weekend, while I had to do the dishes. Least I can use magic this holidays.  _

_ In the meantime I’ve attached a bag of my mum’s Christmas fudge (it’s almost as good as the cake). If Petunia tries to eat it, remind her she’ll get too fat for her wedding dress. Sirius wanted to send a box of the flesh-eating slug repellent my dad uses for his radishes.  _

_ Send an owl back if you’re keen.  _

_ Yours always, _

_ James _

*

A week later, James meets her in the parking lot behind the abandoned petrol station, a few blocks from town. He’s wearing Muggle clothes, thankfully, and in a moment of weakness, she can’t help but admire how well his jeans fit. 

On the way to the teashop she’d decided to go to, they walk past the path that lends down to Spinner’s End. Lily clenches her hands in the pockets of her coat and resolutely looks straight ahead. If James notices her steely resolve, he doesn’t say anything. 

They settle into the teashop. The cushions are too soft, James is initially surprised that the menu isn’t covered in animated hearts, and the water jug on the table doesn’t automatically pour itself; the coffee, however, is good.

After a while, the conversation turns more serious. Lily has just finished recounting her latest attempts to get out of a Slug Club meeting by faking a stomach ache (she had, in fact, scoffed down a dozen vol a vents to induce said stomach ache), and how her self-inflicted illness was still less painful than watching Mulciber, the prat, try to suck up to Slughorn for a job in the Ministry.

“Not like  _ he’s  _ going to need a job, not when we can all guess what he’s  _ really  _ planning to…” Lily mutters darkly, and something unspoken passes between her and James in the brightly lit teashop. 

“What are  _ you  _ thinking about doing post-Hogwarts?” James asks, looking her directly in the eyes, “I’ve never asked. Guess it’s not something we four really have to think about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sirius is a blood traitor which, in this environment,” — James nods his head towards the window like You-Know-Who might be lurking outside a greengrocer in Cokeworth — “rules out everything except famous Quidditch player or vagrant layabout. 

“Remus — well, you know. Peter’ll get a job in a shop somewhere, at least, his aunt knows half of Diagon Alley.”

“And you?”

“Dunno. Famous Quidditch player and vagrant layabout both sound kind of appealing.”

“With hair like yours, I’d say you’ve got the latter down pat. Might have to give up the expensive watch and the fancy broomstick, though.” 

“The broomstick, sure,” James replies, “the watch might come in handy, though. Then again,” and his face darkens, “not sure if I wanna know how long I’ve got left when I’m fighting Death Eaters.”

“You’re going to…” and she trails off, unable to picture James doing what she knows they all must; it seems impossible that the boy who wears a bright pink apron and is always on the run from Filch, and keeps her supplied with jam drops could be looking to fight in the war they all know is coming. And yet — he’s been nothing but excellent as Head Boy this year, and his dedication to keeping Madam Puddifoot’s from turning into a zoo on Hogsmeade weekends goes well beyond what she knows Dumbledore would have expected from a detention. 

James must notice the way her brow has creased, the way she can’t quite look up from the (mercifully lace-free) tablecloth, because he says, “enough about me, Evans. What are you hoping to do?” 

Once upon a time, she would have thrilled at those words, at the idea that James had grown up enough to care about someone else besides himself; now she wonders if they’ve all become adults too soon.

“I’d like to become a Healer.” She waves around the shop with the hand holding her mug, almost spilling some of her coffee. “That’s what everyone ‘round here thinks I’m doing anyway, studying at some posh boarding school so I can become a doctor. Make Cokeworth proud, or some tosh like that.”

“If they’d seen your Hiccoughing Solution, I think they’d be proud,” James says. “Way Slughorn talked about it. anyone’d think you cured dragon pox.”

“Way things are going, I’d be curing worse things than dragon pox,” Lily says, so softly that James struggles to hear her. 

“Blimey,” James says, after they’ve sat in silence for a moment, processing, “if I’d known impending adulthood was going to turn us into such  _ bores,  _ I’d have opted out years ago.”

“I’m sure you’ll find  _ some  _ way to misbehave. That’s what they say, right, death, taxes and James Potter and Sirius Black, blowing something… or someone… up.”

“At least this time, the people we’re blowing up will deserve it.”

They sit in silence again, after that, finishing their food. James keeps looking around curiously, watching as the waitress comes out from behind the coffee machine and starts sweeping the floor with a broom. Behind them, a family of Muggles sit, talking loudly about the disappearance of a local politician they’d read about in the  _ Telegraph _ , each of their conspiracy theories more outlandish than the rest. 

“It’s not the same, is it?” James says finally, draining his tea. “Blasted pixie aside, Puddifoot’s has really grown on me.”

“Not, it’s not,” Lily says, and she knows, deep down, she’s not just talking about the teashop. 

*

Their second week back after the Christmas holidays, things are back in full swing. Between N.E.W.T homework, Head Girl duties and continually trying to avoid Slug Club gatherings, Lily almost misses the notice that the second weekend of term is a Hogsmeade weekend. 

In the end, it’s Sirius that invites her, as they’re all heading out of the castle.

“C’mon, Evans,” he says, with a bright grin, “join us. James’ll love to see you.”

Mary gives her a look that Lily wants absolutely nothing to do with, and then skips off to join the rest of the Gryffindors heading down the path, leaving Lily with the Marauders. 

“What’re you all doing here, anyway?” she says, as Remus orders them all tea and a plate of biscuits. “Would have thought you had homework, pranks to plan, detentions to serve.”

“This practically  _ is  _ detention,” Sirius says, “shame we like Prongs, really, since this is about the only way we get to see him.”

“What do you mean?” Lily asks, as James brings their order. She waits for one of his friends to crack a joke about his outfit, but nothing happens. 

“He’s here practically every weekend,” Peter says after James leaves, gesturing with a biscuit, “and when he’s not here, he’s at Quidditch practice, or rounds, or busy getting Outstandings on his Transfiguration homework.”

“Wait, what?” Lily starts, but before she can say much more, James is back, with one hand on his hip and a scowl on his face. 

“Alright, own up tossers,” he says, nodding at something behind Lily, and she turns to see James’ face on a giant poster hanging above the back tables, which wasn’t there when they’d walked in. Vernon is eying it off like he’s found a new target for spitting. On it, James is wearing his trademark apron and wearing a wide-mouthed grin, with a banner underneath saying ‘my hot chocolate would melt your heart.’. Beneath it, two Hufflepuff fifth years are looking between James and the poster and cackling. Another poster, hanging to the left of the front door, reads, ‘I stir up tea — and trouble.’

“I look absolutely —“

And then poster-James winks at him. 

Lily can’t help herself; she laughs so loud that Peter’s cryptic comment is almost forgotten. 

“Go on, bugger off, the lot of you,” James says, waving a hand madly in front of them, and they do, although it’s not without Sirius reaching out and giving the straps of James’ apron (with a marigold attached today) an affectionate tug. 

“Sorry, James,” Lily calls, as she follows them out the door, “but it brings out the colour of your eyes.”

*

Afterwards, she waits for him out the front of Madam Puddifoot’s. The Marauders are nowhere to be seen, and they walk back up to the castle together, scarves fluttering around their necks in the frosty winter breeze. 

“I’m sorry Sirius is so…” James says, and flaps his hand around in the air, like he doesn’t have a word foul enough to describe Black. 

“Speaking of Sirius, he uh, mentioned something,” Lily says, without waiting for an invitation, “he says you’re here almost every weekend. Way more than Dumbledore would have expected, I assume?”

“I’m just doing my part,” James says, “like I said, Madam Puddifoot is ill, and business is dwindling, what with…”

“James, you don’t wander around here on non-Hogsmeade weekends do you?” she asks, disbelieving. “That’s…” incredibly dangerous, she thinks, given, well everything, but she settles for saying, “absolutely bloody stupid, even for you.”

“I’m not that daft,” James says, throwing his hands up in the air. “There are teachers out there. Once I saw Flitwick and Sprout sharing a romantic cup of camomile —“

“Gross.”

“I know; but once during detention she tried to serve me and Wormtail tea made from gurdyroots, so it could be worse.”

Lily wills herself not to get sidetracked. “So, you  _ don’t  _ abandon your friends every weekend to come and work in a teashop that looks like a hyperactive five year old vomited up all their candy floss? Do you  _ know  _ how stupid that is, James — do you know what’s out there?”

James stops still and stares at his feet; she almost runs into him. “You  _ know  _ the Shrieking Shack’s not haunted,” he says, with a weak laugh. 

“James.”

“Fine, I don’t  _ wander _ …there’s a secret passageway from the castle that comes out through Honeydukes, and then I wear my invisibility cloak the rest of the way.” He looks up at her, and she looks away, because she can’t meet his eyes right now. “I promise you, the biggest danger is that old Aberforth at the Hog’s Head hears me swear when I stub my toe under the cloak and starts thinking there really  _ is  _ a ghost.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, James.” Another thought comes to her. “And — did you say there’s a passageway through Honeydukes?”

“We have a uh, map,” James says, and he digs around in the pocket of his robes for a moment, before pulling out a piece of parchment and tapping it with his wand. Wordlessly, he hands it to her, and she deliberately makes sure their fingers don’t touch. 

Lily stares at it, disbelieving. James might have joked at Christmas about becoming a Quidditch player or a vagabond, but he’s incredibly talented, and he’s been about as good co-partner as she could have hoped for in a Head Boy and, if she’s honest with herself, she’s been impressed by how well he juggles the crowds at Madam Puddifoot’s. And yet — if he’s willing to risk it all by sneaking out of Hogwarts to help a mysterious old lady serve tea and biscuits… 

Before he can say anything else, Lily marches on to the castle alone.  

*

“You knew about this?” she asks Remus, the following morning, in the library. The look of resignation in his eyes says the Marauders had an extensive conversation about this, long after the rest of their House had gone to bed. “How’d you get top billing, Moony?”

“Perks of having an incurable condition that makes people pity you,” Remus replies, not meeting her eyes. “Also, I did most of the artwork; James is good at many things, but cartography is not his speciality. Honestly, Prongs’d struggle to draw a Flobberworm.”

“I take it he’s  _ not  _ the one who drew that poster of Salazar Slytherin snogging a snake and hung it outside their common room, then,” Lily says scornfully, even though it had been an impressive piece of magic. The snake’s eyes had glittered much too realistically for her liking.

Remus purses his lips together. “Do you know why James was made Head Boy, Lily?”

Lily shrugs, keeping a watchful eye out for Madam Pince. “He’s good at it. Dumbledore must have seen something in him… something I couldn’t see when he was first appointed.”

Remus gives her a small, knowing smile; she remembers with a jolt that he’s a Prefect, himself. She hates to think of how many pranks Remus has talked them out of over the years. 

“You know about the, uh, incident, right? Last year.”

“How could I forget?” Lily says. She reinforces the dot above one of the i’s on her essay harder than is necessary, ink smudging on the side of her hand. “I was  _ so  _ mad when I found out — not just because of how dangerous it was for Sev-Snape, but also for you.”

“Well, James is trying hard to atone for his mistakes. He was so worked up, about the whole thing, that he accidentally put his antler through Madam Puddifoot’s window trying to herd me back towards the Shrieking Shack, and Madam Puddifoot herself came out to investigate. Broke one of those hideous angel statues while he was at it, and almost impaled that damn pixie that gives him so much grief.”

“She doesn’t know you’re a —“ Lily can’t bring herself to finish the sentence. 

“She doesn’t,” Remus says wearily. Lily lets out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. “James went back the next day with some cock and bull story lined up in case she asked questions and somehow, in the process, volunteered to work for free… after he fixed her window. Madam Puddifoot’s not great at handiwork spells, from what I gather.”

“Didn’t offer to fix the statue, I take it?”

“Some things are beyond repair.”

Lily laughs, in spite of everything. “So Dumbledore never asked James to work there…” Lily begins, trying to process all of this. 

“I reckon he knows,” Remus says. “Overheard him talking to McGonagall before the hols about how good the jam drops are these days, with this cryptic wink. But, he certainly didn’t request it. That’s… that’s all on James.”

There isn’t anything else she can say, so they go back to working in silence. Lily finds herself reading the same sentence, over and over. 

“Remus?” Lily asks thoughtfully, as her friend packs up his books. “When you say James is atoning… is that why he’s been so nice to me, this year? Stopped hexing people in front of me, dedicated himself to being Head Boy, and all that?” 

Remus looks at her intently and just shakes his head. 

*

It hits her like one of Vernon’s rose petals landing on her head, out of nowhere, and yet not entirely unexpected. 

It’s not like she hasn’t been eagerly awaiting each Hogsmeade weekend, in a way she hadn’t since her third year at Hogwarts. It’s not like she hasn’t enjoyed bantering with James behind the counter at Madam Puddifoot’s, with him slapping her hand playfully as she tries to sneak a few sickles into the till for another jam drop. There’s this easy friendship between them that’s completely at odds with with the stuffy, overbearing aura of the teashop where they’ve been spending so much time together. 

And, when he’d mentioned sneaking out, she’d been so  _ worried  _ about what might happen to him; her stomach had been more jittery than if she’d had to go ten rounds with You-Know-Who. 

Still — 

Of all the possible places, why’d she have to go and fall in love with a boy at  _ Madam Puddifoot’s _ .

*

It doesn’t stop Lily from going back there, and on Valentine’s Day of all days. Mary and Emmeline both have dates, who are thankfully taking them to more  _ respectable _ places like the Three Broomsticks and the broom closet half way up to the astronomy tower and besides —

She’s already gone off the cliff, she might as well enjoy the fall. 

Madam Puddifoot’s on Valentine’s Day isn’t  _ that  _ much worse than any other Hogsmeade weekend, although Lily think that’s not saying much. James has decorated the entire teashop in Howlers, except he’s charmed them to sing love songs instead of scream (except for one, which hovers over the head of a couple who  _ really  _ need to get a room, and cries out suggestively). One of them does a rendition of the Weird Sisters in front of her and she claps when it’s done, causing the Howler to take a bow and James to unexpectedly blush to his roots.  

She waits until the last possible minute, when most of the students are rushing out the door, pheromones drifting in their wake, to enter. 

“I’ll stay and help you clean up,” Lily volunteers, looking at the vast array of dirty dishes that cover every surface behind the counter. “Since I suspect it may have been busy today.”

“You don't have to do that,” James says, but she’s already pulling a pair of rubber gloves from the cupboard under the sink, shrinking them slightly so they’ll better fit her fingers. 

“I know why you work here,” she tells him, once she’s elbow deep in a sink full of dishes, whilst James wipes the counter beside her. “Remus told me.”

“Always meddling in other people’s business, that Moony.” James sighs. “I ‘spose he told you that I’ve been working on shrinking my big fat head, then?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

She’s about to reassure him that Remus hadn’t made it sound  _ quite  _ that drastic but instead, she asks, “why’d you do it? Volunteer to work here, I mean.”

“She was innocent,” James says, “I mean, Sniv-Snape was too, I guess, but he’s been goading us for years,  and I reckon he would have told the whole school Moony’s secret, if Dumbledore hadn’t told him not to. Wouldn’t be surprised if some of the Slytherins still know.” James runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “There’s going to be enough casualties, going forward — I figured Madam Puddifoot didn’t deserve to be the victim of a petty schoolboy fight, and I wanted to make it up to her.”

“I think you’ve more than managed that,” Lily says, and unspoken between them is the fact that he’s made it up to her too; she knows too well that you can’t change the past, but for her and James, moving forward and atoning for past sins are more or less the same thing. 

Before she can voice this, however, there’s a rattle somewhere above her head, and Lily looks up just in time for the pixie to throw a fistful of rose petals, right into her eyes. James instinctively pulls his wand out, but the pixie leaps out the way of his stunning spell, dropping another fistful of petals into his messy hair and cackling. 

“Is the  _ real  _ Vernon always this irritating?” James says, “because I’m sure we could arrange to swap the two. At least your sister’s Vernon would help with our cash flow problem, if he eats as many pastries as you say.” He grins at her. “Whad’ya say, reckon we could orchestra an undercover mission next hols?”

“That’s  _ more  _ like the James Potter I’ve come to know.”

Before he can say anything else, Lily kisses him, rose petals still falling in their hair and on their robes. Without thinking, she fists her hands in the straps of his apron, pulling tight, until the bows holding it together come loose in her grasp. At that p she lets go, and keeps kissing him. He doesn’t taste like tea, like she might have pictured, but he also does this thing with his tongue that she also wouldn’t have expected. 

Eventually, they pull apart and James stands there, apron pooling at his ankles and a dumbfounded look on his face, like he’s just been clobbered by a bludger. He’s blushing, a dark red shade spreading upwards from the collar of his robes. It’s that, more than anything, that makes her sure this is going to work out; the old James would been smirking, maybe even have run off to owl his friends about this news already. 

“Don’t think this is because of the location, or the date, or the snogging, or — anything really,” Lily says, steeling herself, “but I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” 

“I suspected as much,” James says calmly, like they’re discussing the weather, “long before the snogging, which was, might I add, excellent.  _ You’ve _ got game, Evans.”

“How did — why — why?”

“Well, I kind of got my hopes up, at Christmas, when you called me James. And, last time you were here, at Puddifoot’s, you didn’t even take a biscuit. So unless you’re here for interior design ideas in which case, we absolutely cannot shack up together, ever, I…well. Hoped that you might be coming here because you, y’know, liked me.”

“Right,” Lily says, clearing her throat, “I do, uh, like you. And the jam drops. So… what now?”

“Tomorrow, I’m going to ask you out on a date,” James says, “and I’m hoping you’ll finally accept.”

“Why wait ’til tomorrow?’”

James laughs, wrapping one arm around her waist and dusting rose petals from her shoulders with the other. “If our anniversary was on Valentine’s Day, we’d feel obligated to come back to Madam Puddifoot’s, and I couldn’t have that.”

“I mean, we  __ could have biscuits,” Lily says, and James laughs and kisses her in a way that’s almost as sweet. 


End file.
